


Without Him (Yuri!!! on Ice AU) - Chapter 1

by TaliaMatsuo



Series: Without him (Yuri!!! on Ice AU) [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Feels, Heavy Angst, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 19:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11168505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaliaMatsuo/pseuds/TaliaMatsuo
Summary: After his fiancé, Yuuri, goes missing and is found dead, Victor Nikiforov is informed that he was killed by the terrorist group HTS. Enraged, Victor joins the Military Police in-charge of inforcing law and order of society. But, as it turns out, there was more to Yuuri than Victor even knew...





	Without Him (Yuri!!! on Ice AU) - Chapter 1

I leave the TV on in the living room with the door open, so I can listen t it as I get dressed. Mostly it acts as background noise, something to fill the silence that now haunts this house.   
“The body of Yuuri Katsuki…” Announces the news woman loudly. I stop what I’m doing, frozen. “The young man, who went missing three weeks ago on Monday, was found yesterday morning under a bridge in the Petrovka district. Mr Katsuki was reported missing on Tuesday morning by his fiancé Viktor Nikiforov, last having been seen at their home in downtown Arbat.   
At this moment in time the cause of death is still uncertain, however we can be fairly certain that this was the work of a professional, as his face was found to be methodically trampled to conceal his identity. We warn you that the following images are undeniably graphic and may result upsetting to some viewers-”  
The sound of the TV is cut of suddenly without as much as a spark from the circuits. I crane my head around to see Chris standing in the doorway, holding the remote. He looks at me sadly, his long eyelashes batting rapidly as if he’s trying not to cry.  
“Viktor…” There is great pain in his tone and his voice comes out as barely more than a whisper. “You don’t have to force yourself to listen to those things.”  
I say nothing. It takes me a moment to remember why he’s here, if we’d agree to meet today, but then I see his dark suit and the black tie in my own hand and it all slots into place. The floor beneath me seems to move, as if someone is pulling it away from me, and I find myself unable to keep standing. Chris senses this and comes rushing over, catching me moments before my head hits the floor. I stagger back up again and he helps me into a chair.  
I watch as he finishes dressing me, disregarding my tie and searching instead for something less likely for me to strangle myself with. I regret not putting it on before he got here. I let him lift up one of my arms and slide on a black jacket, then the other. He says something, but I don’t catch it. Once again I’m gone; my head lost somewhere other than here, somewhere closer to Yuuri. I can hear myself breathing, but can’t seem to make out the words of those that surround me. Chris pulls me to my feet and lets me lean on him. We walk downstairs. He pauses by the door and picks up the keys. He asks if I need anything else. I shake my head.   
The front door closes behind us with a loud click. I sit on the step while Chris fumbles with the keys, not sure which one is which. His boyfriend stands by the gate, waiting for us. I catch a glimpse of a ring on his left hand. It reminds me of Yuuri and my heart aches.  
The car journey strikes me as never ending. It starts to rain, again. I watch the lights of the cars go by, gleaming through the drops of water that trickle down my window pain. I run my finger across the glass. It’s cold. They’re talking up front, but I don’t catch any of their words. They both throw me several worried glances. Honestly I’d prefer it if they kept their eyes on the road. We pull into car park next to the police station and they both get out. Chris comes over to me and opens my door, holding up an umbrella. The cold, wet air hits me all at once and I want to crawl back into the warmth and hide. He offers me his hand but I shake my head. “I can walk on my own.”  
Despite saying those words, my legs feel weak and wobbly. I lean against everything in my path, clinging to the wall and dragging my feet forward, one after the other. My progress is slow and painful, but Chris waits for me patiently at every turn. It’s like I’ve never walked before, it feels strange and alien and all wrong. When did I last walk somewhere outside the house? It must have been when I stopped looking. If I knew what day of the week it was I could probably figure it out, but I can’t be bothered to ask.  
The doors to the station open and I step inside, greeted by much appreciated warmth. The entire place looks like its seen better days, dark and dreary and with a leak dripping down from the far side of the room. A middle-aged woman with green eyes and dark hair waves us over to a desk on the other side of the room. She smiles and her expression is not without kindness, but it seems half-hearted.  
“Mr Nikiforov, I presume.” She says to Chris, who shakes his head and beckons me over. Her face sinks when she sees me. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Please, follow me.”  
She leads us through a couple of corridors. We cross paths with police officers and civilians alike, but they pay us no real attention other than a quick glance; they have other things to do. We walk past an interview room and, although the blinds are down and I can’t see anything, I think I hear someone scream. I try to put it out of my mind and hurry to catch up with the others.  
The green-eyed woman leaves us with a man in a white lab coat, who leads us down another series of passageways. He opens a door and we step into a room filled with what at first glance might be mistaken for filing cabinets. Chris visibly shudders and his boyfriend puts an arm around his shoulders protectively. The man unlocks a drawer to our left and pulls it out.   
“Unfortunately there’s not much left to identify him by.” He tells us. “But I was told that if anyone could do it it would be you, Mr Nikiforov.”  
I nod and take a step closer as everyone else takes a step back. Even the lab coat man, who must see things like this on an almost daily basis, looks disturbed.  
In the drawer, covered mostly with a white cloth, lays a man. He was short, messy black hair and soft, rounded features. Based on these features alone anyone would be able to identify him, but it is the rest of his face that turns eyes away or, at the very least, what is left of it. Deep gashes of red run all the way across his head, from his ear down to his chin. It seems that a bit of his nose has been brutally knocked or cut off, and dry blood trails down morbidly from one of his eye sockets. The soft skin which I loved so much has been cut and trampled beyond what I had thought humanly possible. I place a hand on his cheek and pull away immediately, shocked by the disgusting roughness of it. I don’t even want to know what the rest of the body looks like. There’s a sound from behind me as Chris throws up.   
I turn to the man in the white coat, who seems to be actively avoiding my gaze. I can barely breathe, barely think, but somehow I keep my voice even enough to say “Can I see his eye?”  
The man looks at me in surprise, his gaze going to the bloody eye socket, which I’m beginning to think is empty. I trace my finger gently across Yuuri’s other eyelid and he seems to understand what I mean, as he takes a step closer. He pulls the eyelid up ever so gently and a big brown eye stares up at me, lifeless. A sob escapes my lips and, for the second time today, I fall to my knees. This time no one rushes to my side, as they allow me my moment of grief. It rushes over me, pain, such incredible pain. It drowns me; I choke on it. It fills my lungs, my brain, and my heart. Any remaining hope I had, however fickle, escapes me, and I’m left as a crying heap on the floor, grasping the broken hand of my dead fiancé in my own, sobbing, as I cry the same word over and over again; nothing deep, nothing meaningful. Not something that would have an effect on others. Just a name, the name of the most kind-hearted, beautiful person I ever met.  
My cries were obviously enough indication, because as we leave the morgue no one asks me if I’ve identified the body. No one demands confirmation. I sit in a chair opposite the door from which we came in while Chris fills in my forms for me. Nobody questions it. I realise that I’m muttering to myself, but I’m not entirely sure what I’m saying. I’m broken and I’ll never be able to put myself back together.  
Someone sits down next to me, a man. I recognise the emblem on his boots from somewhere, but I don’t remember where. I don’t remember… Why was I here again? I don’t know, I don’t know…   
“Mr Nikiforov.” The man says. His voice is gruff and old, but it sounds almost like an echo to me. Is he talking to me? I’m I Mr Nikiforov? I’m not sure anymore. I continue to mutter to myself. “Mr. Nikiforov.” He says again, firmer this time. “My name is Yakov Feltsman, I’m with the Military Police. I need to talk to you about your fiancé; there is something you need to know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the late update, I'll try to post new chapters more frequently from now on! ^^


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